Infernal Itch

You are overcome with twirling plaque by a metric yet unknown, and this before the object of your lust is even surmised. Resist the melody it plays skillfully to the rhythm of your inner dialogue. Subterrain windows of borrowed night unlatch to pool into the recesses of your half-willing imagination. This glittering tar is foreign to your mind. Do not stir lest you irritate it's visitation. An opaque whirlpool will slow until it breaks up into droplets and marches like army ants underneath your tented skin. Behold an intelligent shiver that struggles to access waves of vulnerable memory. It bargains for deeper penetration than what you have already granted. Your reluctant generosity is the spine of it's seduction. Tell it to go and witness violent bubbling that exceeds anything a laboratory of science can produce. It has already sung your appetite to sleep. And oh what a jealous oil she has become answering your bones so that they do not ache. A second conscience assuring your mind so that it does not race with doubt. Your blood is afraid, but it must obey. Now swallow a canary or I will insist upon the services of an exorcist.